by Warren, Rie
Chapter One
RETRIBUTION MC. TUNES BLASTING. Drinks pouring. Denim- and leather-clad honeys dancing. Folks laughing. Pool balls knocking, and the dartboards a’rockin’.
This was the fucking life.
The grand opening party for Bo and Kinkaid’s double business venture had relocated from HardCorps Gym/Hardcore Strippers to the clubhouse, and the usual suspects crowded the room from corner to corner.
We had cops, a few reformed ex-cons, ex-military, accountants, business owners, people from every walk of life. I stood behind the shiny steel bar watching all the well-wishers party hard in honor of Kinkaid and Bo.
Man, I couldn’t be prouder or happier for Kinkaid if he was my real brother. After what had happened with his grampa, and almost losing Sadie—more than once—he deserved some good fortune.
As for Bo, well, he’d had the scary almost sucked out of him by Veronica. Now he laughed instead of scowled, threw grins instead of his knives, and often thanked Hunter for setting him up with Doctor Veronica Hartley instead of threatening to kill him for making him get his head shipshape.
Yeah, Bo was another man who warranted success and joy.
Hunter—ex-Black Ops and now police force all the way—had been my mentor in his usual give-no-fucks/take-no-prisoners style. The man, who’d been a mystery when he first joined Retribution, thought I could have a career in Blue. I wasn’t so sure about that. I had a habit of attracting bullets. The latest slug had bit me in the shoulder when we’d brought the pain down on Iron Nails MC in order to get Bo’s lady back. That motherfucking bullet had wrecked one of my tats—and I was just a little bit precious about that shit. Hunter had done his best, stitching me up with no anesthetic beyond a few shots of hooch in a Jacksonville hotel room, his old partner Walker playing nurse in the most sarcastic way possible.
Since throwing my helmet in the ring with Retribution MC my life had been anything but boring. Not that it had ever been a snooze-fest one way or the other.
This club had been through just about everything: murders, raids, deaths, betrayal, abductions . . . strippers . . . weddings. That was only in the past year and a half. I patched through last November. Previously I’d been known as Probie Original Recipe. Now I had my colors and my roadname: College. Kinkaid had been Probie Version 2.0, but he’d made it into the brotherhood in March as Ryder. Just his last name, nothing more than that, in honor of his grandfather. The two of us still shared the shit work until a new prospect showed up, but we’d gained respect.
“What are you grinnin’ at, butt boy?” Just then Tail—number one Pussy Hound—called over to me.
Respect?
Shiiiit.
“You keep talkin’ about my ass that way, I’ll start thinkin’ you wanna lick it.” I shot back.
“Oh hell no. I don’t munch butt.” He shuddered.
“Not on dudes anyway.” Brodie Steele knocked an elbow into Tail’s ribs.
“Well, yeah.” Tail rolled his eyes as he twirled his personalized pool cue like a fucking majorette’s baton.
Several other men within earshot, which was the entire bar, blushed.
Yeah. I hadn’t met a man yet who minded eating tail, me included, except I didn’t blush about it.
I slung the dirty bar cloth in Tail’s face. “Asswipe. Why don’t you make yourself useful for a change.”
“I am.” Laughing, he slapped the damp cloth down in front of me. “I’m the eye-candy, didn’t you know?” He ground his pelvis against the bar, raising his arms.
Instantaneously, four women surrounded him, goddamn purring for his attention.
Pussy hound.
As the usual jokers went in search of someone else to fuck with, I started rinsing glasses. They piled up at the end of the bar next to the massive knife sharpening stone that had more than a few nicks in it. My hardware jangled at my wrists and neck. I’d taken off my leather cut as soon as I’d entered the keep. It was end of July. Mount Pleasant, South Carolina. Hotter than Hade’s asshole, come to think of it.
Cold air gusted in through the vents, but it wasn’t enough to cut through the haze of all the happy, hot bodies taking up residence in the bar, possibly for the entire night. I considered getting rid of my ribbed tank top, too, but thought better of it. This wasn’t Kinkaid’s old playhouse palace—The Gentleman’s Quarters—where dudes got their clothes off so women could get their rocks off.
Although that wasn’t to say public nudity didn’t happen on occasion in the middle of the Retribution barroom.
I rinsed another glass, quietly chuckling when I overheard badass Bo mentioning to Hunter the ball and chain with Veronica was anything but bad.
I know my way around a ball and chain.
Half an hour later, Kinkaid and I were tossing bottles of liquor back and forth, juggling that shit, pouring out drinks one-handed behind our backs in front of a growing crowd who yelled their lungs out and whistled through their teeth. I didn’t have to worry about Kinkaid stripping off and getting on top of the bar any time soon. He’d made a vow to his girl Sadie, and the lap dances were reserved for her eyes only.
“Cole! Here’s the girl I wanted you to meet.”
I looked around, pouring two neat fingers of whiskey without even watching the alcohol glug out.
Sadie approached. Pretty Sadie. She’d make any man’s pulse roar with the long sandy hair, hardcore ink, the Suzuki dirt bike . . . and all that attitude, but my eyes were instantly glued to the girl.
Girl?
Fuck that. She was a full-blown woman.
No way was she a member of our sister charter, the First Ladies of Redemption. Hell, the way she carried herself, she could’ve been born into one of the famous First Families. But her look was pure Marilyn Monroe.
Platinum blonde. Polished. Pin-up hot. Pale seafoam green eyes. Classically beautiful, with rockin’ curves and screen starlet red lipstick.
Instant attraction. Instant run in the other direction. And I knew all about running.
Before I could book it, Kinkaid whispered, “Welcome to your worst nightmare,” and Sadie was practically on top of me with Little Miss Posh in tow.
Hunter watched with a smirk.
Bo with too much interest for my liking.
Kinkaid with a shake of his head in Sadie’s direction.
Dickheads.
Under their scrutiny, I felt the uncommon heat of a motherfucking blush on my cheeks.
“Coletrane, this is Sinclair Chatham.” Sadie dragged me forward. My boots probably left skid marks on the floor. “Sinclair, meet Cole.”
“Coletrane. A pleasure,” the remarkably hot woman purred.
My rough hand met her manicured one, and a sizzle of heat spread low down my spine, knocking me in the balls.
She screamed money. I had like two extra bucks in my bank account after I paid my rent.
I glared at Kinkaid. Wingman? More like the hangman.
Drawing my hand away, I scanned Sinclair again. Sinclair. Must’ve been some kind of fancy family name. Got the Sin part down right, though. High tits. Perfect wavy hair. The indent of her waist made my mouth water. Luscious. Lovely. Way out of my league.
Sadie disappeared as fast as her feet could carry her. All the dudes glanced over, pretending they were just scanning the joint and not avidly watching the scene unfold before them.
Kinkaid hopped off to get another case of beer, braw.
“I’ve never been in a motorcycle club before.” Sin’s voice rolled out like a well-oiled engine.
She made all my pistons fire just like that, but I wasn’t a wet-behind-the-ears dipshit willing to be taken for a ride. I preferred to be in the driver’s seat when it came to women.
“No shit? Wouldn’t have guessed.” I half-smiled at the babe in high heels and the silky skin-tight dress with the expensive perfume almost making me drug-out in nirvana from the teasing scent alone.
“Are you going to get me a drink?” she asked.
“Yeah, Probie!
Get the woman a drink already.” Hunter heckled, so entertained.
I flipped him off, heading around the bar. “What’s your pleasure, Sinclair?”
“Cosmopolitan.”
Of course. She had Sex and the City written all over her.
In the next instant, she pushed up on the bar and . . . cleavage. And more perfume like a hashish haze and just as potent.
Then her husky laugh coiled around me. “Kidding. I can drink like a big girl too.” Those big soft green eyes widened as she sucked on the pad of her fingertip, giving me ideas about schoolgirl porn. “Whiskey. Raw.”
No shit? I poured from Hunter’s special bottle, handed her the glass with a goddamn cocktail napkin, too.
“No ice? You sure?” I asked.
“Like I said”—she slipped her carnal lips to the rim of the glass and swilled the amber liquid down—“I like it raw.”
“That’s good.” Drawn to her, I swiped my fingertip across her bottom lip. “Me too.”
The tip of her tongue snuck out, touching my finger.
I pulled back as soon as her wet lick stung my flesh.
Smiling, Sin cradled her drink between her hands. “Are you up for a pool game?”
“Can do.” At least then I’d have something to do with my eyes other than staring at her like I’d never seen a woman before.
Maybe the princess wasn’t as petted and privileged as I’d thought. Or maybe I just wanted to see where this would go.
Probably not a wise move, but I wasn’t always the good guy.
As we waited for one of the pool tables to open up, Sinclair danced to the music, hitting every note with her swiveling hips.
I rubbed a hand over my mouth, watching her. The woman was so hot she looked like she didn’t even need a partner to get off.
The track ended and she sauntered over to me. “I like your chains.” She brushed the thick rings on my neck, then around my wrists.
My skin sizzled wherever she touched, causing chaos with my suddenly rough respiration.
“Yeah. Well, they’re not Van Cleef or whatever.”
“Oh, I know.” As her head tilted, the light from one of the bright beer signs caught the big diamonds in her ears. “I have enough of that stuff to know the difference.”
Big surprise there.
This woman did not fit in here.
“You’re up, Cole.” Tail knocked me on the shoulder with his pool stick. “Go easy on the new cherry. Wouldn’t want her to break a fingernail.”
Sin grabbed a cue off the rack and expertly rubbed the chalk over the end.
Her eyebrow arched in Tail’s direction, her million dollar voice carried over. “I’m standing right here, sweetheart, if you have something you want to say to me.”
Tail looked like he’d actually swallowed a pool ball for a moment before he guffawed.
He gave me a smack on the back and a low warning. “Good luck with that, man.”
What did surprise me about Sin was she knew her way around the table, and she was adept at pocketing balls. On second thought, I shouldn’t have been shocked by that shit at all since she’d practically handed Tail his nuts on a platter.
I found her increasingly attractive. And it wasn’t just her looks, which were total Silver Screen sexy.
She kept the chatter to a minimum. I approved. She wasn’t tarted up—she didn’t need to be. She was effortlessly provocative.
Sin wasn’t showy. She got the job done. And even though she didn’t unnecessarily swish her hips or tilt her ass when she bent over to the table, more than a handful of men groaned loudly every goddamn time it was her turn. Even more of them swore under their breath.
She was honey to all the horny men, and they lapped that shit up. She was exotic in these rough-and-tumble surrounds, a foreign luxury.
As I played against her, I didn’t go easy, as Tail had advised. The woman wanted a game, she’d get one, just not the kind I usually liked to play. Even so, she was on the verge of beating me. I blamed it on my unhealed shoulder, which I strained to make perfectly angled shots, not the fact I was just as distracted by her professional performance as much as the dudes standing around practically drooling.
When I got ready to take another shot, she lounged beside me. She sipped her drink, those glistening red lips puckering just right for a juicy kiss or a long hot blowjob.
My pool cue skipped on the maroon fabric, and the ball banked way off the mark.
“Way to knock it out of the park, College!” Brodie and his brother Boomer had joined the circus ring spectators.
Brodie was always on my case, just because. He didn’t bother me anymore. I’d proved myself, made the cut.
I just couldn’t seem to sink shit tonight.
Sin dropped over the table to grunts all round. Even more road-ready dudes gathered around to salivate, just waiting for their turn. I wouldn’t mind if one of them took her off my hands. This woman was trouble.
On second thought, screw that.
None of them were getting their hands on Sinclair Chatham. Neither was I.
Best strategy would be to shut this down, close her out, and get her gone ASAP.
After she scratched on her next turn—while I stood next to her, flexing my arms across my chest—I grazed a knuckle under her chin so she’d look up at me.
Those sea green eyes once again mesmerized me.
I shook myself.
Trouble? Straight up danger zone.
Getting with the plan, I dropped my voice. “Look, Sin—”
“Sin?” she said on an intake of breath.
“Yeah. Here’s the thing.” I moved the two of us away from the onlookers and eavesdroppers. “I like my ladies a lot of ways. Blonde, brunette, big, small. I like cherries shy, I like ’em with sassy mouths . . . I like them with wet, hot mouths.” I licked my lips, wondering what her plump bottom lip would feel like sucked between mine. “I like to fuck. And anything goes. But when I’m in bed, I’m in charge.”
Her eyes narrowing, her body tensed. “I don’t give up control that easily.”
I backed a pace away from her with a sharp grin. “That’s what I thought. So, I’m not the guy for you. You ain’t the chick for me. Sadie got it all wrong.”
She toed up to me with a hands on hips stance, then her eyes suddenly sparkled with amusement. “I think you got the wrong end of the stick.” She prodded me in the chest with the bumper of her cue butt. “I’m just here for a pool game, Cole.”
An unwilling smile curved my lips. I turned her around and guided her into place over the pool table with me at her back.
The men who had gawked while we’d had our private talk suddenly pretended to be interested in their drinks, the ceiling, the time on their watches, but as soon as I bent Sin over the table I felt their gazes drilling into us.
I leaned over her, my breath rustling the silky ultra-blonde hair beside her temple.
I heard her swallow as I laid my hands over hers on the cue stick.
Her ass nestled against my cock. A very interested cock.
She is such bad news.
With my big arms wrapped around her smaller body, we made the final shot. My hands only trembled a little when she gasped as my dick made harder contact with that pert ass of hers.
Eight ball, far corner pocket.
“Game. Over.” I whispered roughly in her ear. “Now let’s get you out of here.”
Pushing me back, she swung around. “This might come as news to you, but I don’t like taking orders either.”
“Bingo.” I winked at her. “Is your car outside?”
“No. My driver dropped me off.”
Jesus.
“Fine. Let’s get you home.”
I held her hand in mine as I cut a path back to the bar where I gathered my leather cut. I only let her go long enough to jerk the vest into place over my shoulders.
Her shimmering eyes widened a little when I had it in place over my gray tank top, with my ripped, frayed jeans,
the worn leather belt with the big silver buckle, and the kick-your-ass biker boots.
I raked my hands through my hair. “You about done staring?”
Her gaze lifted. “I could’ve asked you the same thing earlier.”
Busted.
As I hustled her toward the door, I could tell the guys were busting their guts trying to bite their lips.
Brodie didn’t bother with any of that, shouting out, “Way to make a first impression!”
I spun to glare at the Veep. “Not another fucking word.”
“Ohhh.” He lazily leaned against a table, stroking his goatee. “Giving orders to the Vice Prez could get your patch yanked.”
“You’re not the only one who doesn’t take orders,” Sin called back as I marched her outside.
The guys’ heckles swilled out after us.
I directed Sin toward my bike. “I think we’ve already established that.”
“This is your motorcycle?” Her fingers trailed over the seat of my roadbeast.
My own beast jumped in my jeans, her stroking fingers causing a commotion to my cock and all she was touching was my motorcycle for fuck’s sake. “Yeah. Welcome to the ride of your life.” I squinted at her from top to toe then said, “But we’re gonna have to do something about this.”
This was her beautiful dress in some kind of silk that swathed her hips and tits and thighs in a colorful oriental design. And then . . . her perilously high heels, which made her hips sway side to side with every step she took.
I took off my Retribution vest and helped her into it. And that was so goddamn hot I really wished I was in her league, or that she’d be up to playing the way I really wanted.
After dragging my gaze away from the mind-bending visual of the top class broad in the expensive dress wearing a black leather, skull and scales of justice cut, I grabbed my spare helmet.
“You been on one of these things before?” I settled the brain bucket on her head, her hair beneath my fingers just as soft as it looked.
“No.”
I helmeted up and straddled the bike. “Get on behind me. Hold on around my waist. Lean when I lean.” Turning my face, my lips nearly brushed hers. “I’ll take it easy on you this time.”
